A Death in Spring
by MaryandMerlin
Summary: May. The last breath of Spring before the heat of summer. Two rivals face each other in a final showdown that will change the course of history forever. Who will die, whilst the other survives? One-shot!


**Author's Note: I do enjoy putting a little twist on things!**

 **MoS - Jade the Silver Princess** \- Voldemort/Harry - Hurt/comfort - (AU) Dark wins

 **QLFC - Round 11** \- Death on a Spring Day - (sound) Sobbing - (emotion) melancholy - (phrase) walking down the road

 **Hogwarts Assignment - History of Muggles** \- Task 1 - Write about a rivalry

 **Halloween Party - Trick or Treat** \- (character) Fenrir Greyback

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing!

Word Count: 1032

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A Death in Spring

The boy's voice rang out like a bell as he spoke. Clear despite the obvious fatigue that laced the edges. He looked almost melancholy - as if this situation made him terribly sad. They moved in a slow circle around the perimeter of the room. It would seem almost casual, as if they were walking down the road, were it not for the observers pressed against the walls, watching with bated breath.

On each of their lefts lay a heap. One, a pile of fabric used to make him invisible. Discarded now, and near useless. On the other, a body. Her hair as dark and wild as her dress. She lay motionless, lifeless. As useless as the cloak.

He felt nothing.

The Great Hall, a place where he had once felt so happy, was all but in ruins. Walls were crumbling, rubble lay in piles everywhere and the windows were almost all shattered by stray spells. Dawn was breaking, the enchanted sky above them turning from deepest night to indigo, but a cool spring breeze blew in through the windows, ruffling his robes. The last cool gasp before June brought the heat of summer with it, holding such promise. Spring was the season of life, and dawn heralded a new beginning. To whom was nature making such promises?

"That wand still isn't working properly for you, because you murdered the wrong person," Potter cried. "Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."

"He killed-"

"Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! His death was planned between them and he meant to die as the wand's last true master."

"I stole it! I took it from him and thus became its master!"

They continued to circle. A smile, so sure of victory, passed across Harry's tired face. "No," he continued gently, "the wand recognised a new master before Dumbledore died. A simple spell that changed the course of all their carefully laid plans without him even realising it."

The occupants of the hall drew in a collective breath, the pause was almost unbearable, the pressure in the room crushing.

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Shock rippled through the room. His grasp tightened around his wand, which his opponent mirrored. Voldemort could feel the power building within him, he could almost taste the curse on his lips.

"What does it matter?" he whispered softly, almost lovingly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone... and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…"

The boy had the audacity to laugh. "You're too late, I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him." He raised the Hawthorn wand in front of him, pointing it directly at Voldemort. "So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" Harry whispered. "Does the wand know I disarmed his last master? Because if it does... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

A dazzling ray of sunlight burst into the room at the moment, the enchanted ceiling now shot with red and gold as the sun crested the windowsill. As one, they screamed:

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Golden flames erupted, marking the point where the two spells met. Green spellfire collided with and engulfed red. Time seemed to slow as Voldemort watched with satisfaction as fear streaked across Harry's face. It was a pleasure that he had been robbed of seventeen years previously.

The curse hit him square in the chest. No one cried out in protest or horror as the light vanished from his emerald green eyes or as his body went limp. He slumped to the floor, lifeless. The only sound was that of the Hawthorn wand clattering to the floor.

For a moment, no one moved. No one even dared to breathe and then a wail split the silence. "Harry!" a girl screamed. She darted forward, a redheaded blur. She collapsed over his form, seized his shoulders and began shaking him desperately.

Voldemort smiled, caressing the Elder Wand he raised it. "Avada Kedavra," he whispered. The curse struck her in the back with such force that she straightened briefly into a sitting position before collapsing forward herself. Shielding her precious Potter, even in death.

In the next breath, the surviving death eaters came to flank him. They formed a loose ring, wands pointed into the crowd that had opposed him.

"You," he nodded towards Goyle. "Check that the boy is actually dead. Though they do say third time's the charm."

A spatter of obedient laughter broke through the ranks around him. It contrasted nicely with the aura of fear. Goyle lumbered over and shoved the ginger girl to one side roughly. He hauled Harry Potter up by his collar and pressed a hand to his chest.

"No heartbeat," he confirmed.

"Bring him to me," Voldemort demanded quietly. Goyle dragged him over and held him out towards the Dark Lord. "Put him there." Goyle dropped him unceremoniously and the boy flopped heavily to the ground.

Voldemort paused, feeding on the terror in the room, before gently inclining his head. "Fenrir."

With a savage grin, the werewolf crouched down and began to feast. Now the gasps and screams came as he ripped and tore at the flesh until there was nothing that resembled the Boy Who Lived bar the glasses he had always worn.

Women wept, men stood tall in an attempt to face their fears, but he knew - they all knew - that it was over. These people would not last the night. He lifted his wand, the Elder Wand, in front of him and prepared to cast a curse that would set the tone for his rule.

He hesitated, remembering the words that Potter had spoken. It was true that he had not had full allegiance from this wand and Voldemort felt he should start as he meant to go on. Gently he tilted his head to one side, eyes slitting as he scanned the circle of obedient death eaters.

"Bring me, Draco Malfoy."

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 **Much Love, MaryandMerlin x**


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